ALL THOSE QUIET LIVES AT THE END
The bliss of the spam celebrates International Womxn's Day.
- Mar 08 2021
- Dalia Mainiis a writer, editor and urban mermaid.
The bliss of the spam are naughty political poetical observations, monthly collected and inspired by the voices of the many.
the joy of being forgotten /missing out on purpose/going out poorly dressed/the right to stay in silence/melting in tears at work/speak a shitty english/ have multiple souls/have sex every night, but a broken heart/read poetry while cooking/being poor but with a lot of friends/ water your plants with the pee of your cat/being bold and shy/inventing every month a new word/be the storm/share your tools/don't share/think about the others/hate yourself/deliver kindness/rise your hand/ take a risk every day/close yourself in the room/care a lot/don't give a fuck/R A N D O M N E S S/shape a path to joy/don't walk on it/rethink what joy is/synthetic freedom/un pezzo di pizza /being unproductive/feel the excitement /being super depressed/read 3 books per week - no idea who wrote them /being in crisis/coping with the outern spread crisis of everything/a blue monday/too many addictions/recognize the structures/recognize the models/recognize they are made up/recognize you can imagine the opposite/recognize you are not alone/recognize you are part of the spam
Dear dear blisses,
When did you last lose yourself in the joy of celebrations?
With The bliss of spam we intended to convey a project of manyness and from our own point of view revolutionize the scheme of the perception of yourself and of your interactions.
Our thoughts germinate as an antidote to a pitfall of loneliness and detachment. A grey region describing the experiences of the many uprooted neoliberal lifes, always working, vexed from anxieties, little money and never love.
When did you last lose yourself in wonder? Never mind if you can’t recall, we didn’t count.
Because if we are lost we are strong
as our own bewilderment
had strengthened the potency for a new inner world.
What we could do, in the amids of the crash of all our beliefs and certainty, was to roll in several models and travel in numerous bodies. From our position we have become witnesses to the development of an unapologetic atmosphere generated by informal nocturnal discourses, strolls, love and friendships we were marginal, but where, you readers, belonged.
2 black atlantic womxn speaking on the ubahn in regards of their premature born children. Your friend from a traumatic past, affecting your life as a chemio but giving in return unmeasurable joy. The tourists couple dressed in functional clothes, staring at you with curiosity at the museum, perhaps they want a threesome. The non caucasian woman studying german in the library, when you are reading about racism and feminisms. The lazy person who pretends to have an opinion about everything, but never moves his ass from the sofa. The lady with long slavic hair, who wants to dance always alone and doesn’t believe in time. That girl we fell in love with at the bus station, standing vertical and slouching, holding a book between two fingers, while smoking bored her cigarettes, such a beautiful tiny clichè. Your ex’s ex whose body is better shaped than your. The colleague who will never make a step further in your affective life, because professionality is the first thing and friendship means vulnerability. The rubin coloured nails guy, choosing a pink lady apple from the fruit counter, chewing his cheeks. That pale you, you are never achieving to revive under the spotlight of the night.
Your quiet lives at the end of capitalism have touched us indirectly, growing in us the special feeling of togetherness. We, falling for all the shapes of our life in this time of precarity, survival and attempts, we have found a contentedness in each other.
The we, w-e.
On a different scale the life of people adapts after changes, finding a new position in time, space, in the so called accidents of existence, building hives and being attracted by new scents S-L-O-W-L-Y
Therefore, the bliss of the spam has represented for us a sketch toward a community we longed to be part of and eventually an infrastructure of togetherness, which has gathered a community fond and responsive to our raging and clumsy voice.
Now, because of our exclusion that is neither specific nor general, but existencial we answer to a rotten reproduction of sociality with joyous laughter. More than whealtiness, power, allure, self-confidence, theory and discourses, we have temper and temperature, a desire to develop a subjectivity of the many-ness that is unrecognized, but extremely needed.
We apologize for not footnoting you, it’s not in our style, but we feel immensely grateful to you. As we steal ideas, celebrate bodies, merge worlds we feel like part of the push, committing ourselves to conversation, to being fugitive. And thus, dismantling prejudices and hierarchies, we invite you to consider this: Life is easier in many-ness, whether we shoulder each other as a principle of justice.
Now that you know what we are pursuing, we have a request for you:
Can you tell us something about your taste and trajectories? What do you like for breakfast, with whom would you like to share your food? What would you do with your free time? Are you sick? What does torment you at night, what makes you dream? Do you want a caress?
Take a few minutes, not more than that, we don’t need perfection, but realness.
We need you to do you.
In between this moldy glitter mess that are our bodies, socially vexed, and privately damaged, where branches of tristesse grow and make kinships, our aura radiates a day-gloo light. In the darkness we quite lifes at the end of capitalism, we can recognize each other and organize assemblies in the brokenness of souls. In order to keep it broken and nourish our anger with joy.
in forever the yours
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- IMAGE CREDITS.
Sophie Utikal, Steril soil, poison sky, 2020, textile, 160 x 210 cm
Courtesy: the artist